


The Loner

by blackdragonhellfire



Series: A Talon's Life [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (even though he doesn't know it yet), Angst, Blood and Gore, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, Good Big Brother Dick Grayson, Gore, Murder, Romani Character, Romani Dick Grayson, Violence, Young Dick Grayson, i need to stop writing talon dick fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackdragonhellfire/pseuds/blackdragonhellfire
Summary: How a Talon went from being unable to fly to soaring in the skies.---The story behind Talon!Dick getting into Bruce's care.





	1. The Loner

The apartment was empty, except for the cold cup of coffee sitting on the counter. Yet, an eerie silence filled the emptiness, giving the room an almost tangible aura. The bed was unkempt, the sheets askew. An abandoned designer purse sat on the floor, never to see its owner again.

The soft sound of a dripping faucet broke the tense silence, the silence that no one seemed to be around to hear. No one, except for a shadow.

This shadow wasn’t really a shadow, but a young boy. Lanky and lean, he possessed the grace of an acrobat and the silence of a ghost. The Talon stared into the darkness with dull, soulless eyes, hidden behind the goggles he used to conceal himself on missions.

The shadow leaned on the bathroom wall, listening for sounds from the hallway outside. He heard nothing, just the soft dripping of a faucet.

Talon took the drip of the faucet as his cue to slip out of the room. On the way out, he turned off the lamp by the bed, as planned, to alert the neighbors that someone had been in the house. Then, he slipped out of the window silently, making less noise than even the most subtle breeze. The clicking of the lock was barely audible on the shadow’s way out, just as he’d made sure it would be. Just as they had taught him.

The Court of Owls would be pleased with his work.

Drip, drip, drip, went the bathroom faucet.

Drip, drip, drip, went the blood of the dead woman in the room’s bathtub, dripping down the drain and down, down into the pipes. The day after, people would people would find her body and wonder who killed her, and why.

Drip, drip, drip.

They would never find out.

* * *

The shadow had almost returned to his masters when he had spotted him, traveling across the rooftops with a grace and balance only winged creatures could have.

Batman. The hero of Gotham.

And how he had wondered what it would be like to fly across the rooftops alongside him, uncaged and unburdened, without the need to hide in the shadows. The Talon had always felt a longing to perform, to fly underneath the light, instead of the shadows the Court forced him to stay in.

It was almost as if he missed it, despite the fact that he must have always been Talon. After all, he was sure he remembered nothing else. But when he thought about it, he’d remember a woman’s soft voice singing, and a calloused hand ruffling his hair. Someone calling him their little Robin.

_Robin._

Talon settled his restless thoughts by telling himself that despite his so called memories, he was still Talon now.

And yet, those errant thoughts never quite went away.

* * *

The Talon slipped through the manhole cover on 7th street and 1st avenue, and back into the sewers his masters resided in.

The Court of Owls was expecting him.

He crawled through the sewers, sensing his destination almost instinctively. Grimy water sloshed underneath his boots, seeping through the thin material and into their soles. Despite this, he felt no discomfort as he traversed towards his destination.

Before he knew it, he had arrived.

The ground beneath his feet gradually turned from grimy concrete into polished marble. His steps echoed softly across the marble chamber, despite his training.

Suddenly, he heard the echo of another set of footsteps behind him.

The Talon spun around, grabbing one of his many knives. With speed and precision, he readied the blade, aimed, and threw in one smooth motion, borne of countless hours of training.

The blade hit its mark.

The recipient of the knife stumbled over, clutching his chest. Blood trickled through his hands, staining his gloves red.

And then he began to laugh.

The man with the knife in his chest stood up, laughing all the while. The Talon reognized that laugh. After all, the man that he had just stabbed always met him after missions to make sure that his student had performed the job perfectly.

William Cobb pulled the bloody knife out of his ribs and began to approach the Talon. The Talon stayed still and avoided flinching, prepared for the punishment he was obviously due to receive for throwing a knife at a superior.

Cobb, however, had other ideas.

“Excellent work, Gray Son.” he crooned, pulling a cloth out of his belt and beginning to polish the bloodied weapon. “I take it you were successful?”

The Talon relaxed slightly and nodded. It was distasteful for him to talk in front of one of his elders. That had been the first thing Cobb had trained into him.

“Good. The Court will be pleased with your work, as always. I did train you to be the best, after all.”

The Talon nodded once again, lacking anything to say in response. He didn’t wish to return to retraining again for an errant slip of the tongue.

Talon almost shuddered at the thought, but he managed to restrain himself in time. If Cobb had sensed his fear, he would be sent right back to the labyrinth. The place of what little nightmares he had.

Talon restrained another shudder, looking blankly at Cobb’s now-healed knife wound through goggled eyes.

“I believe it’s time for an evaluation of your skills, Grandson. Follow me.”

Cobb walked off, leaving Talon to follow him.

And Talon did.


	2. The Murder

The Talon was on the hunt again. 

The old Gotham clocktower rang, the hour hand striking midnight. Talon stood up from his perch by the clock’s face, his face illuminated silver by the moonlight. 

And then, he fell. 

Talon smiled as he fell, a smile full of joy that most people would never think they would see on a boy that had been forced to commit so much hurt in the world. But, even despite this, he smiled, illuminating the bitter nighttime around him. 

Someone had once told the Talon, long ago, that he was always moving, never slowing down or looking back. And despite the fact that he didn’t remember these words, they were true nonetheless. 

He kept falling.

The Talon could hear the strange woman singing a familiar yet unfamiliar tune as he soared, the somehow familiar sound of a crowd cheering, feel the phantom rush of joy as he fell down, down, down. 

Right before he hit the streets, he shot a rope upwards. 

The rope struck true, hitting the roof of another building, and The Talon pulled himself up, doing a front-flip in the process, adding little flourishes here and there while he soared through Gotham’s smoggy skies. 

He felt… strange. Fuzzy inside, warm almost. Warmer than he had felt in a long, long time. 

_ Is this what being alive feels like? _

The Talon landed on a nearby rooftop, and the giddy smile fell off of his face. 

He had a job to do.

* * *

Tony Zucco was sitting in on his uncle’s couch, wondering how his life could have come to this.

First, his parents just had to die when he was kid. Then, he had to get into crime into survive, which seemed like a great choice at the time. But look where that had gotten him, just because that C.C. Haly just had to refuse him his protection money.

Those damn Flying Graysons. Why did their ghosts just have to ruin his damn life? First their kid didn’t fall, and then the Batman was all over his behind for their death, chasing him everywhere and back like a bat out of hell. It was a wonder that he hadn’t found him at his uncle’s house yet, and Zucco knew it was a matter of time before he did. 

Little did Tony know, that someone far, far worse would find him first. 

* * *

A little while later, Tony Zucco lay dead on his uncle’s couch, blood staining the cushions and bubbling from his now blue chest. 

Across town, under the shadow of the Gotham clocktower, a small shadow cleaned his knives, his job long since completed.

The shadow slipped away, back to its masters, to report on his progress.

* * *

_ Hm. Strange. _

Hours later, Batman kneeled over Tony Zucco’s body, having found it on the couch when he entered the house. Now, instead of apprehending and arresting Zucco for the murders of John and Mary Grayson, he was wondering who would have wanted to stab the man to death. 

_ There’s plenty of motive. Zucco’s swindled plenty of people before the Flying Grayson case. But who would have been able to find him? Even I barely even managed to locate him before all this happened! _

The Dark Knight looked at Zucco’s stab wound. It was a clean strike to the heart through the upper chest cavity, right behind his collar bone. It looked as if to have been done by a knife from the entrance wound, and judging by the evenness of it, a professional. 

_ Why would a professional assassin go after Tony Zucco? _

Batman took out a tiny camera, snapped a couple of pictures of the cadaver, and then proceeded to alert the police. 

Like the person who was there before him, he slipped out of the house without a sound.

* * *

 

“Excellent work, Gray Son.”

The talon remained bowed at the Grandmaster’s feet, not deigning to rise in the face of his master, for fear of punishment. 

“You may rise.”

The Talon stood up in a fluid motion, but kept his head down. It wouldn’t do for him to look the grandmaster in the eye, as he had been taught early in his time with the Court.

Never look up, he had learned, as they will always squash you down.

“We have another job for you, Gray Son of Gotham.”

Talon stared at the white-tiled floor beneath him, face blank. 

“We need you to kill Bruce Wayne.”

Talon nodded. 

“Cobb will take care of the details. Kill him, and make it public. Do it as soon as possible, as he is impeding on our plans.”

Talon nodded again, still staring at the white-tiled floor of the grand hall. It was beginning to hurt his eyes, but he didn’t dare look away from it.

“You are dismissed.”

Talon left the room in a swift motion, and went to go find William Cobb.


	3. Parallels

Bruce Wayne was tired. 

He had stayed up until four in the morning chasing leads on the Zucco case on the Batcomputer, only to come up with nothing. Even screening the security camera was mostly fruitless, as the only thing he had gleaned from his search was that the black and gold-clothed assassin was…

_ A child.  _

What sort of sick freak would send a child to go kill a man, no matter how guilty he was?

Bruce sighed, and put his head in his hands, but he had no time to ponder his findings. 

He had stockholders meetings to go to.

* * *

Talon was tired.

It was almost sundown in Gotham, and he was decked out in civilian clothes and sunglasses. Cobb, instead of giving him information, painstakingly covered his vein-covered skin with makeup and sent him out to do reconnaissance, whatever that meant. The shirt he had been forced to wear chafed at his sensitive skin, despite the fact that he had his uniform on underneath, and the sun hurt his yellow eyes, despite his tinted glasses. 

The mansion at 1007 Mountain Drive, otherwise known as Wayne Manor, loomed in front of the assassin, creating a stark shadow onto the pavement in front of it. 

The Talon stared at it, mapping his entrance, and then made his way to go find a suitable hiding place to wait.

* * *

Bruce Wayne was sitting in his stockholders meeting, having reviewed all of the company’s stocks on his own beforehand, when the ludicrous idea came to him.

_ What if that child assassin was Richard Grayson?  _

Bruce highly doubted it, even if the kid had gone missing soon after his parent’s deaths. But, even then…

_ What if he was avenging his parents? With just how close I came to trying to do just that, after my own parents died, it could be him. But… _

He had heard from members of the circus after the boy had gone missing that he was a bright kid, both figuratively and literally. Richard Grayson, according to what he could tell from the circus, would have moved on from his parents deaths, not killed the man who killed them. Or, he would have been smart enough to wait until he was older before going in for the kill. 

But, maybe, someone, something could have gone in and twisted him, molded the young boy beyond recognition…

Yet, something was telling him otherwise. And Batman had learned the hard way to always trust his instincts. 

_ No, it couldn’t be him. So who could it be? _

* * *

Talon was hiding out under the cover of a bush on Bruce Wayne’s street, waiting for the man’s car to return from his work so he could ambush him when the skinny kid with the camera passed by him on his bike.

And stopped right by him. 

How could this kid had seen him? He had taken pains to make sure he was unseen in his spot! The court would never expect any less from their prized Talon, after all.

But, somehow, this little kid had seen him anyway. 

The little kid went closer to him, and squinted at his form from behind the bush, attempting to get a closer look at him. 

“Oh my God,” he said, voice cracking a little in awe, “You’re Dick Grayson!”

The talon shot up. 

He knew that name. 

The kid kept staring at him.

_ He knew that name. _

“What happened to you?” 

That was when Talon knew he had to get out of there as fast as possible. 

* * *

Bruce Wayne was finally about to go home.

Alfred had been waiting for him by Wayne Enterprises, prim and proper as ever. The elderly butler nodded at Bruce from behind the limo’s tinted windows, and Bruce nodded back to his oldest friend, a noticeable smile on his face. He was Bruce Wayne now, not the Batman, and he could afford to smile at the person who had taken care of him during all those lonely years. 

Alfred stepped out of the car and opened the limo door for Bruce, and Bruce slipped inside, not bothering to admire the luxurious space. He had seen it too many times to count. 

Alfred returned to the steering wheel, and they were on their way.

“I assume you are tired from the day’s events, Master Bruce?”

Bruce scoffed at Alfred’s statement, but Alfred didn’t believe him. 

“Then you are tired from the night’s events, I presume?”

Bruce scoffed again. 

“I’m not tired at all, Alfred.”

Alfred, however, could see right through his employer.

“Well then, sir, if you insist. But do be kind enough to wait until we have arrived back at the manor before taking your nap.”

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement to Alfred’s statement, not bothering with a response. He would need whatever rest he could get, if he could get any.

The way things were looking, Batman was going to have a long night.

* * *

Talon was finding this reconnaissance thing to be... rather entertaining.

The little kid with the camera, who Talon had learnt was called Tim Drake, stood by his side by the bush he had been hiding in, babbling on about his pictures or his nannies. The Talon could barely understand what he was saying, even with the Court’s English tutelage, but he understood the boy’s quiet sort of excitement. 

Sometimes, Tim would even stop talking, and wait for the Talon to respond to him. Strange. No one had ever done that for Talon before. At least while he could remember.

But, even then, Talon couldn’t get himself to respond to the boy next to him. So, instead, he settled for nodding occasionally and smiling at him softly, hoping that the kid wouldn’t expect too much from him. Especially since he had seen the Talon. Little Tim Drake probably wasn’t going to be around for much longer, especially if the Court found out about his existence. Which it would. After all, the Court of Owls knew everything. 

Poor child. 

He would know.

“And then, this picture is from the top of the old community center! It has a great view, but Catwoman almost caught me there when I took it... What do you think, Dick?”

Talon wondered why he kept calling him that name. After all, he wasn’t that person. He was the Talon, the Gray Son of Gotham. Nothing else. 

Or, was he?

The Talon, instead of responding to Tim’s query, merely nodded. 

At this, Tim smiled brightly enough to light up a room. 

“And this one is when - look out! There’s a car coming!”

A limousine zoomed by the two boys, and the Talon caught a glance of one of its passengers through the limo’s tinted windows - 

Bruce Wayne. 

It was time to complete his mission. 

Talon stood up almost robotically, and began to follow the limousine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah um... enjoy!


	4. Parallels pt. 2

Talon stopped. 

For some reason, Tim Drake was following him. Didn’t that boy know anything about what was good for him? 

“Dick! Where are you going?”

The Talon turned to Tim and smiled sadly before walking off, hoping that he would get his message. 

Tim kept following him. 

“Dick!”

What was this kid thinking? 

“Are you going towards Mister Wayne’s house? I could walk you there, if you want! I know the way…”

Did this kid really want to see what would inevitably happen to him that badly?

Talon remembered the haunting screams from some of his victims, the way they would shiver in fear and attempt to get as far away from him as possible before he killed them. The blood pooling around their bodies after he did.

Did he really want Tim Drake to have to see that?

No, he thought, he didn’t. And from what he could tell from Tim, the boy would only stop following him if he did something drastic. 

The Talon tried to force a deep breath through his underused lungs, gathering up the courage to do what he needed to do next. It was doing this, or seeing the only person who had ever shown waited for him to respond eradicated by their own folly.

“N-No,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse, “No. Away.”

Tim’s jaw dropped. 

“Dick? You can talk?”

“No.” 

He gestured away from himself, trying to convey his message through his motions.

English was hard. 

Maybe Tim Drake would get his message better if The Talon tried saying it in his mother tongue?

“Bolde tut, kako. Naš!”

“What are you saying? I can’t understand what you’re-”

Never mind.

“G-Go. Go. ”

“Huh?”

“Go. You… go.”

He gestured away from himself once again. 

What was the word for that place again? 

“There. Go...there.”

That was the word.

“You want me to leave?”

Dick nodded, wide-eyed and fearful. 

Tim’s face fell. 

“Well… it was nice knowing you, Dick. And, um… I’m sorry for not…”

Why was Tim sad? Talon was saving him! Talon didn’t want to see Tim sad. He had made Cobb’s reconnaissance interesting, after all. Even if a Talon wasn’t supposed to care whether his job was fun or not...

The Talon was just supposed to be a weapon, a tool in the Court’s arsenal. But, even he couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the fact that he had made Tim Drake sad. 

He vaguely thought of how the strange woman and the kind man would reach out and ruffle his hair whenever he felt sad. Or, at least he thought they did. If they were even real. 

He reached out towards Tim. 

Should he really be doing this? The Talon thought. What if Tim got hurt by him? 

“Dick? What’re you -”

Talon reached out and patted Tim’s head lightly. Anymore, he thought, and Tim would be hurt by him. He was a weapon, after all. Made to hurt others.  

Tim looked up at him, and smiled, eyes wet. 

“Thanks for letting me meet you again, Dick Grayson,” he said softly, “And I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to make you stay...”

Dick Grayson smiled softly at the young child.

And then turned back towards the hunt.

* * *

Bruce Wayne, despite his earlier desire to, wasn’t napping.

Instead, he sat at the Batcomputer, going over the evidence from Tony Zucco’s murder for what felt like the millionth time that night. 

_ Just who was that child assassin?  _ He asked himself, time and time again.  _ Who trained them? How much of a threat are they? _

There was almost no evidence to who the child assassin was, due to the lack of fingerprints on Zucco’s corpse and the fact that the child was wearing a black cloth hood and goggles over his face. Yet, from the security footage, Batman could tell the child’s gender, approximate height, and how much training he had received. 

And according to what he could glean from the tapes, this assassin was lethal. 

However, even the Batman would never have suspected that he was the assassin’s next target.

* * *

 

Wayne Manor was larger than any house Talon had ever seen. 

The long, dark hallways seemed to swallow him up with every twist and turn, spitting him out at random, empty rooms. Occasionally, Bruce Wayne’s elderly butler would pass him by, nearly spotting him from under the cover of the shadows. 

If Cobb were here, he would have killed the butler. Leave no evidence, he would tell the Talon, and if you do…

Talon, however, had decided otherwise. After all, he had left evidence alive sometimes and still, no one had ever caught him during a mission. Just as the Court wanted. Plus, he had already broken that rule by leaving Tim Drake alive. So why not break it again? He was already going to be punished for leaving Tim alive, why not leave another alive also? The butler had done nothing wrong to him. 

Yet. 

And when he did, the Talon would kill him. But, only then.

The Talon turned, and instead of continuing  to wander around the manor until he found his target, he followed the Butler silently, realizing that the Butler could easily lead him to his location. 

The Butler walked around the manor with smooth strides, knowing exactly where he was going through Wayne Manor’s confusing corridors. The Talon found himself envying the old man’s ease around the manor. After all, If Talon could have that same ease, his mission would be over that much sooner.  And the Court would be less likely to punish him. 

Hopefully. 

The Butler walked into a well-lit room, and stopped in front of a Grandfather clock. 

The Talon stopped by the door, curious as to what the Butler would do. 

The Butler messed with the hands, and the clock slid towards the side, revealing a secret passage. 

The Talon watched, entranced. 

The Butler stepped into the passage, and the clock slid back into its place behind him. 

The Talon kept watching. 

And then he prepared to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Bolde tut, kako. Naš!” means "Please turn away. Go!" Ripped from a few Romani phrase sites. I hope it actually works structurally and stuff, but feel free to correct me if there's something that could fit better there.


	5. Crossing Lines

The Zucco case was beginning to irritate Batman.

It wasn’t as if he had been able to solve cases on less evidence than even the Zucco case provided him, but, somehow, the Zucco case seemed twenty times harder than an average open and shut murder case. He could tell - just tell, that he was missing something.

But what that something was continued to elude him.

He rewound the security tapes from Zucco’s uncle’s house, and replayed them for the umpteenth time, studying all the marks on the assassin’s suit and on his knives. He had run the marks through his database, time and time again, only to come up with nothing.

Batman took off his cowl, and rubbed his temples.

He needed a lead, and he needed one soon.

* * *

The Talon descended the steps one at a time, careful to make sure that none of his steps made a sound. His job was almost over, and soon, the Court’s plans would be set in motion. Everything would be back to how it was, before Tim Drake waited for him to respond to his questions with a subtle nod of his head, or the feeling of talking to someone after not doing so for the longest time -

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about his conversation with Tim Drake?

Tim Drake’s sheepish smile floated back into his thoughts, turning red, stained with his own blood. The smile itself vanished in turn, stolen from the boy by the quick strike of a Talon’s knife.

What if the court sent him to kill Tim Drake?

The steps seemed to stretch on into forever, each one changing into an insurmountable behemoth that even Talon couldn’t pass, despite his skills.  

Talon couldn’t think anymore.

He stopped walking.

The Talon felt like he was dying, despite the modifications the court had made. The world was spinning, spinning, spinning, shrinking in on him.

The Talon had only felt this way once before.

_Bodies falling, screams silenced by the unforgiving ground, the thud of the bodies hitting the ground, stilled forever. Bright costumes stained an even brighter red._

Wetness began to well up behind the Talon’s eyes.

_Daj...Tati._

For the first time in years, tears streamed down the Talon’s face.  

But the Talon could not stay down forever. The court had trained him to do his job, and he would complete it. Otherwise…

The Talon wiped his eyes and stood up.

It was time to do his job, once and for all.

* * *

The glare of the computer screen was beginning to get to Bruce’s head. Or so it seemed.

He knew that the screen wasn’t that bright, since it was on its lowest brightness setting, but that didn’t stop the screen from seeming as bright as the sun against the darkness of the cave.

He closed his eyes, shielding then from the glowing screen. It was probably a good idea to install a different screen at some point, if the problem persisted.

Ugh.

He opened his eyes.

The case summary stared back at him.

“It maybe prudent to take a break, master Bruce. Or, as you will inevitably choose to do, sit and continue working until your brain fries.”

Bruce turned his head slightly, acknowledging his butler.

“I need a lead, Alfred. And soon.”

“May I, perhaps, lead you to your bedroom?”

Bruce ignored Alfred’s sarcasm in favor of his glaring screen. Even Alfred’s sarcasm could give him a bigger headache than his computer did, sometimes.

“This case has little to no evidence, as there aren’t any other records of this assassin. But I need to solve it, Alfred. I have to. Even Tony Zucco didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Alfred sighed.

“I suppose, sir. But I don’t think the assassin deserved it either. He is just a child, after all.”

“A dangerous child.”

“Yes, but still one. And no child deserves the fate of an assassin.”

No child deserved to have that blood on his hands. But life was a cruel, cruel place, as he knew firsthand. Sometimes innocent souls were turned into monsters. Even he was tainted with the stain of vengeance. But even he hadn’t even lowered himself down to the extent of an assassin.

“No one does,” he said, determination coloring his words, “But he needs to be stopped before he hurts someone else.”

Alfred put something down beside him, and prepared to walk away.

“Than it might be easier to stop him if you take a break for a while, Master Bruce,” the butler called back to his charge. “Who knows, he may even come to you first.”

Then, Bruce felt a strange hit to the back of his chair. Alfred never hit the back of his chair, or even touched him, really. Besides, the old butler was across the room.

What was that?

Something sharp dug into his back.

“Alfred,” he said, “is there something in the back of my chair?”

Alfred went behind him, and pulled something out from the back of his chair. The strange sensation he felt went away.

His suspicions were correct.

“I’m afraid so, master Bruce.”

He handed him a short throwing knife of unknown make, with intricate carvings on the handle. Just the same as what the assassin used on Tony Zucco, according to the security footage of his murder.

The assassin was here.

Bruce stood up, instantly on his guard. Just because the assassin failed once didn’t mean he wouldn’t try again.

“Alfred, I think you might be right about this case.”

Alfred huffed.

“As I usually am, sir. Do you require my assistance in finding this culprit?”

Bruce pulled up his cowl for the second time that night, covering his facial features. His lenses scanned the area behind him, where the assassin was bound to be lurking. 

Nothing but darkness. No heat signatures. Nothing.

“No.” he replied, “I’ll handle it myself.”

Alfred sighed.

“As you say, sir. If you do require my assistance, as you usually do…”

Bruce turned away from his eldest friend, and walked to the stairwell.

The meaning of Alfred’s statement remained unsaid between them.

* * *

The Talon heard the hurried thumps of his target’s feet heading towards the stairs. A target that should have been dead from the knife that Talon had just thrown into his chair.

Impossible. His targets always died! Why did he have to fail to kill someone, just when something was at stake? Maybe, if Wayne died, they’d never find Tim. Maybe, they wouldn’t punish him for talking with him.

Maybe, for a short short while, he could pretend he was free from them.

But if Wayne and his butler found out about him, and found out about the Court, he’d never be free. He’d always be hunted, and then he’d be punished, or even reconditioned.

He had heard about reconditioning from Cobb before. He said that it was for a Talon’s own good, once they went renegade. It made them forget that the Court was bad, to go back to living their hollow existence.

Talon didn’t want to forget.

He turned tail and ran, aiming to get out of that cold, dismal manor as fast as possible. Forget punishment, he thought. He just wanted out. Out of this place, out of the court, into the air, up in flight, into freedom.

He ran just to feel the rush he felt while flying, the sting of the wind barreling past him, the rare smile that graced his face when he fell, fell, fell into oblivion.

The feeling of living.

Little did he know that his way to fly was the reason he thought he’d have to stay on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it's been a while. Sorry about that. In the meantime, though, I wrote this story about Jason Todd called "Holy Mountains" and updated my Star Wars fics so I guess it wasn't too unproductive. 
> 
> :)
> 
> Enjoy!


	6. The Chase

Batman was getting rather frustrated. 

This assassin was just good enough to give him the slip, despite being an amateur enough to not kill him on the first try. 

And it was driving him nuts. 

The Batman had been trained by similar assassins, cultivated and harvested by them. He knew their methods from the inside out, even if he had rejected their morals. 

So then how come this little assassin was giving him the slip?

He looked almost everywhere - his father's study, the old ballroom, the second basement, which hadn’t been touched in twenty years - the works. No corner of the mansion remained untouched, either by him or by Alfred. And somehow, he couldn’t find anything.

But little did he know that the Talon was hiding in plain sight. 

* * *

Talon was relieved.

Bruce Wayne has stomped under his hiding space a total of 3 times, and hadn’t even begun to notice him. If the Court had trained him, they would have punished him for his inadequacy.

But Talon was trained to the Court’s specifications, and Wayne was not, which increased his chances of getting out of this house and…

And what? He thought. The court would punish him for his indiscretions, and Wayne would be killed by another Talon soon enough.

So where would he go, if he gave up now?

Maybe Tim Drake might let him hide out with him, he thought, but he shut down that idea immediately. There was no way he was going to put that boy in danger. Not when Tim had waited for him to speak, asked for his words, treated him with courtesy for what felt like the first time in his life. He owed him that much.

But where would he go then? 

He’d figure that out later, he guessed. For now, he needed to focus on getting out of here.

And, hopefully, he could take Bruce Wayne down with him, and run into the midnight air.

* * *

 

Batman didn’t expect it the second time the assassin struck, either. 

He was walking when the knife flew past his side, hitting the tile beside him with a splintering crack.

Batman looked towards the source of the throw.

The assassin was dangling off of the chandelier, holding on to the wire frame by the strength of his legs. Another knife rested in his hand, and he cocked it back, and swung hard.

The knife spun closer and closer to him and Batman barely dodged in time.

The chandelier swung back and forth from the assassin’s weight, and the force of the throw. Back and forth and back and forth - 

And then, all of a sudden, it fell.

The assassin flailed and attempted to get out, to avoid being crushed, but the chandelier fell too fast. Bruce stares at the falling chandelier, unblinking as it hit the floor with a crash, spraying glass in its wake.

The assassin’s body lay underneath the broken carcass of the chandelier, bent and broken. Shattered glass covered the floor around him, creating a hazardous barrier between him and his former target.

Batman stood, looking at the ruins of the chandelier with unseeing eyes. Seeing such carnage was an everyday occurrence, even if it was in his house instead of the Gotham streets. But this - this was the body of a child, he reminded himself. A child that he inadvertently killed. 

The body gave a twitch. Then another. 

Batman started. 

The assassin’s body stood up slowly, shaking off the glass and the wire on top of him. It dipped and swayed, almost as if the owner didn’t know what was happening with it. 

Almost like the owner was undead. 

Batman tensed, preparing for a fight. 

But the assassin, instead of attacking, unsteadily backed away from him, and crashed through the window, escaping into the garden below.

* * *

 

After running far, far away from Bruce Wayne’s mansion and settling on top of a billboard, Talon still had no idea what to do.

Despite this, however, he knew exactly what he didn’t want: the Court’s punishment. The needles. The claustrophobic coffin. The cold creeping up his sides and coming out of his mouth in puffs of icy air. 

The Talon stayed stock still on top of the billboard, paralyzed by fear. 

There was someone behind him. 

Talon took a knife, and readied it, preparing to throw and- 

A familiar mask stared back at him.

William Cobb was here. 

The Talon froze again. 

He knew this would happen. He knew he’d never be able to escape the clutches of his masters. Someone would always be monitoring him, making sure he was completely loyal before they let him truly become their Talon - their loyal soldier, ready for sacrifice. 

“Greetings, Gray Son,” Cobb rumbled. Despite the older man's mask, Talon could see his smile. A smile borne of the suffering of others. How many times had he seen that smile, when he had messed up a move or spoken out of turn?

His smile spoke of punishment to come. 

The Talon didn’t dare to move. 

“And here I thought, Gray Son, that you finally loyal enough to finish the job without having me hang over your shoulders.”

Cobb let out a bark of bitter, sadistic laughter. 

The Talon stayed on his perch. He knew better than to move without Cobb’s permission. 

“I suppose I overestimated you, Grandson. Here I thought you would actually be worth the effort we spent into making you the best weapon you could possibly be, and this is how you thank us?”

The Talon looked away, ashamed. He knew Cobb was insulting him, insulting his worth, but even then, he only understood half of what the older man was saying. 

He understood _worth_. He understood _weapon_. He understood Cobb’s disappointed tone. 

And he hated himself for showing mercy. 

“Come with me Gray Son,” Cobb said, gesturing to him. “Let us see what the council makes if your unfortunate failure.”

With barely any hesitation, Talon leapt down, and followed his superior below.

* * *

 

Batman lowered his binoculars. 

He was too late. 

The Assassin had already evaded him, slipping away from his sight with his older companion’s help. 

He sighed, and put his hand to his face. 

He was so, so tired. 

He melted back into the night, intent on finishing the case. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update! I literally had no ideas how to finish this chapter until I went on widdlewed’s Roasted server and asked for advice. Well, it’s finished now, so I can’t complain.


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